


Bitter Truths

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Trauma, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage Counseling, Medical Examination, Post Game, Rape Kit, Workaholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: “My husband was unfaithful to me,” Ignis says. “He met a man at one of the nightclubs where he bounces. They went to a hotel together when I was working late. A third man joined them there.”He relates the facts in a dispassionate voice. It’s easier that way. Dissociating his feelings from his statements makes them less painful somehow.“And that’s what’s been bothering you?” the doctor asks.“There’s more.” He wishes Gladio’s infidelity was the only thing on his mind. Gods, how he wishes. He lets out a shuddering breath. “They assaulted him.”Gladio tries to start an extra-marital affair, with a disastrous outcome. Ignis is wounded by the betrayal, but incapable of leaving Gladio when he needs him most—and he doesn't know if he should stay or go. Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme.





	1. Profane

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off two prompts on the kinkmeme in which Gladio cheats on Ignis, but winds up getting assaulted + the emotional fallout of those actions. 
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THE TAGS. The act itself is very brief, non-explicit, and described only through dialogue and auditory clues. If there is anything I neglected to tag, please let me know.

The ticking of the clock is the only sound in the room.  
  
Ignis sits in an overstuffed armchair, one leg crossed over the other, waiting for Dr. Brunetti to appear. Anxiously, he twists the silver band on his ring finger around and around, unsure what to expect. This isn’t the sort of place he’d normally find himself. He’s healthy, well-adjusted, capable of dealing with life’s ups and downs on his own. He’s never needed a professional to talk him through his problems. _Face it with a stiff upper lip_ might as well be the Scientia family motto.  
  
Monica insisted, though, on his first day back from his leave. Perhaps she saw something in his face that made her think he needed it.  
  
And so, here he is, sitting alone in a therapist’s office with nothing but that awful, monotonous ticking to distract him from his own confused thoughts.  
  
He starts when the door opens, courtly instinct propelling him to his feet. Heels click, business-like, across the floorboards toward him.  
  
“Ignis,” a woman says, shaking his outstretched hand. She has a warm, even voice, the kind that manages to be nurturing and professional all at once. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Brunetti. Please, have a seat. Let’s talk.”  
  
Ignis sits again, perching on the edge of his chair rather than sinking back into the plush leather. “Thank you, doctor.”  
  
The wheels of a swivel chair drag over the floor. Ignis imagines her sitting behind her desk, in front of a bank of windows overlooking Crown Boulevard, as buttery sunlight slants in across her papers. He imagines a potted plant in the corner—perhaps an imitation palm matching the ones that line the beach at Galdin Quay—and photos of her husband and children hanging on the walls. A smiling family. A happy family.  
  
At least on the surface.  
  
But perhaps he’s presuming too much. Perhaps her only family is a purse dog or a clowder of cats. He doesn’t know her, and he can’t see what she keeps on her walls.  
  
“Well, then, Ignis, let’s get started. Can you tell me a bit about what you do?” she asks.  
  
It’s an easy question. Yes, perhaps he can do this after all.  
  
“I’m an advisor to President Leonis,” he responds. He’s back to twisting his ring, around and around his finger. “Formerly, I was chamberlain to His Highness King Noctis Lucis Caelum, may he rest in peace. President Leonis considered my knowledge of governance so valuable that he brought me in to help him establish his new administration after the end of the darkness.”  
  
Dr. Brunetti makes a small hum of acknowledgement. He hears the lyrical scratch of a pen moving over a notepad. “Do you enjoy your work?”  
  
“Of course I do. It’s the kind of work I was raised to do, and it challenges me.” He gestures to his face, to the scar tissue of his destroyed left eye. “Besides that, as a blind man, finding gainful employment isn’t a simple matter. I’m fortunate President Leonis gave me this opportunity.”  
  
“But?” she prompts.  
  
He frowns, tugging on the ring until it meets his knuckle. “But what?”  
  
“You’re here for a reason, Ignis, and I understand Vice-President Elshett referred you to me. Are you struggling to fulfill your duties?”  
  
Ignis hesitates. He’s always prided himself on his work ethic. He used to put in eighteen-hour days in Noct’s service, and although he’s dialed it back to twelve in recent years, it’s not unusual for him to spend another few hours on conference calls after he’s gotten home. A workaholic, some might call him, but he’s always found meaning in what he does. Few could question his dedication or the quality of his output.  
  
Until Monica pulled him aside and told him to get his head on straight.  
  
“Something happened recently in my personal life that has strained my ability to perform to the level I expect of myself,” he says carefully.  
  
Dr. Brunetti doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she’s waiting for him to continue.  
  
“I was on leave for a few days to deal with a family emergency,” he goes on. He clasps his hands in his lap, squeezing them between his thighs, to stop himself from playing with that infernal ring. If only he could stop the pounding of his heart with such ease. “I did not divulge the nature of the emergency to my employers. I thought a few days would be enough time to sort out the problem and process my emotions, but evidently, I was mistaken.”  
  
“And did Vice-President Elshett threaten to let you go if you didn’t shape up?”  
  
“Oh, no. Astrals, no,” Ignis says. “The vice-president has a thick skin, but she’s a sensitive woman. She expects me to do my job competently, of course, but she asked me to come see you because she cares about my well-being first and foremost.”  
  
“I see,” Dr. Brunetti says. “You’re here today to discuss the troubling incident that happened in your personal life, then?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Her pen scratches the paper some more, then pauses. She’s waiting for him to speak.  
  
Ignis licks his dry lips with a dry tongue. Until now, her questions have been easy to answer. He put his toe into the shallows with confidence, but now she’s asking him to wade into the darkest part of the lake. And for all intents and purposes, she’s still a stranger to him. How is he supposed to tell her about this thing that’s brought him to angry tears every single night since it happened?  
  
This thing he can hardly admit to himself?  
  
“Ignis?” she prompts.  
  
“I have a husband,” he says, because that seems like the safest place to start. “We’ve been married almost eight years.”  
  
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Gladiolus,” he answers.  
  
“And what does Gladiolus do?”  
  
“He’s a bouncer at a nightclub. Several nightclubs, to be precise.” Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t stop. “He was the Shield of the King, you know. He had a sacred duty to protect the line of Lucis. But after Noct—King Noctis, I should say—passed away, he was rudderless. He didn’t know his purpose. It took him a long time to figure out what he should do. President Leonis asked him to be his bodyguard, but Gladio refused, saying he wanted to live his life on his own terms.” Ignis laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “And now he breaks up barroom brawls and throws drunks out on the street. Respectable, isn’t it?”  
  
“You sound angry.”  
  
“He was unfaithful to me.” The truth tumbles out before he can clamp down on it. In his lap, his hands clench into fists, then relax. Saying it aloud is awful. Awful, and freeing. “He met a man at one of the nightclubs where he bounces. They went to a hotel together when I was working late. A third man joined them there.”  
  
He relates the facts in a dispassionate voice. It’s easier that way. Dissociating his feelings from his statements makes them less painful somehow.  
  
“And that’s what’s been bothering you?” Dr. Brunetti asks.  
  
“There’s more.” He wishes Gladio’s infidelity was the only thing on his mind. Gods, how he wishes. When he lets out his breath, it shudders. He has to speak around a lump in his throat. “They assaulted him.”  
  
There’s a long silence, broken only by the clock’s relentless ticking, before she says, “Sexually?”  
  
Ignis nods. That’s all he can do. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.  
  
“Did he confess this to you?” Dr. Brunetti asks.  
  
“No.” A confession would have been preferable to what really happened. A confession wouldn’t haunt his dreams, wouldn’t torture his every waking thought. “I heard it. I heard it all.”

  
*

**{FIVE DAYS EARLIER}**

For the most part, Ignis enjoyed his job.  
  
But not on evenings like these.  
  
He’d been asked to pack a suitcase and come to the Citadel for a series of meetings with the Accordian government, which Cor expected to go well into the night. Ignis hadn’t protested—this sort of thing was part and parcel of the job, after all—and for once, neither had Gladio. In fact, he’d been remarkably good-natured about it. He’d thanked Ignis for leaving him a plate of food in the fridge and kissed his cheek as he went out the door.  
  
If only all their discussions about Ignis’s career could go so smoothly.  
  
He prided himself on his dedication to public service. Sitting here, however, made him wish that he was at home eating pizza on the couch with Gladio instead. It had been nearly three hours now since the talks commenced, and in all that time, they’d made no substantial progress. Cor and First Secretary Claustra were caught up on a single clause in a seventy year-old fishing treaty that gave Accordo unfettered freedom to trawl the seas near Galdin. Now that Niflheim was in shambles, Cor wanted to claw some sovereignty back for Lucis. Claustra, to no one’s surprise, was unwilling to give an inch.  
  
Ignis had little to contribute on the matter, and after listening to them bicker over it for the past hour and forty-five minutes, his left temple was starting to throb. He desperately needed an Ebony. So it was a good thing when Cor, in a moment of subdued exasperation, granted them a fifteen minute break to cool their heads.  
  
Ignis slipped out of the council chamber, pulling his phone from his pocket. He’d told Gladio he would check in on him when he had the chance. Now seemed as good a time as any, and besides, hearing his voice would soothe some of his tension. “Call Gladio,” he instructed the voice-activated assistant.  
  
It rang six times before Gladio picked up. Except the voice that greeted him didn’t belong to Gladio. It belonged to someone else entirely.  
  
“You’ve reached Gladio’s phone,” it said, deep and male and mockingly sweet. The sound of it put Ignis on edge. In the background, he heard someone laugh—another man, but too cold and humourless to be Gladio. “What can I do for you today?”  
  
“Who is this?” Ignis demanded. His fingers tingled, as if all the blood had drained from his extremities. “Where’s Gladio?”  
  
“Oh, he’s here. Don’t you worry about him. Are you his boyfriend?”  
  
“His husband,” Ignis said tightly.  
  
The man on the other end of the line sucked in an exaggerated gasp. “His husband?” Then he laughed, too, and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled, as if he had pulled the phone away from his face to address someone in the room. “Shit, you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you? You’re gonna be in trouble when you get home.”  
  
“I’d like to speak with Gladio.”  
  
“Too bad. He’s busy.”  
  
“Who is this?” Ignis repeated.  
  
“Oh, just the guy who’s about to fuck your hubby,” said the voice. “You can talk to Gladio after we’re done with him.”  
  
The line went dead. And Ignis stood there, frozen, with his phone in his hand and a ringing in his ears. For once, he couldn’t jumpstart his brain. There was nothing but an empty void where thought couldn’t penetrate.  
  
But then the questions started flooding his head. Where was Gladio? Who had answered his phone, and what had he meant when he said “we”? Had he meant to imply that Gladio was about to engage in a threesome? How—and where—had Gladio met this man? How long had they been seeing each other? Had Gladio been going behind his back for weeks? Months?  
  
Years?  
  
The thought made his stomach lurch. He’d slept beside Gladio, had shared a home and a bed with him, for nearly a decade, even when home was a caravan and their bed a filthy sleeping bag next to a campfire. Gladio was his best friend, his guide, his lover. Gladio had promised to cherish him and be faithful. Had it all been a lie?  
  
No.  
  
Perhaps it was it all some elaborate prank.  
  
It had to be. Gladio would never do this to him.  
  
Would he?  
  
 “Ignis.” Monica’s soft voice, spoken from somewhere in the vicinity of the meeting room doors, snapped him back to reality. “We’re starting. We need you in here.”  
  
He nodded and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Yes,” he said faintly, “of course.”  
  
Though he’d come here intending to do his job, and do it well, he found himself unable to focus as Cor and Claustra resumed their discussion about fisheries. The ringing in his ears simply wouldn’t subside. His body sat there, in this chair, but his mind was elsewhere. His entire world had been shaken off its axis. In the face of that, these ridiculous trade negotiations seemed to matter very little.  
  
_You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?_  
  
_Just the guy who’s about to fuck your hubby._  
  
_You can talk to Gladio after we’re done with him._  
  
Ignis curled his hand into a fist on the tabletop. He itched to draw out his phone and call Gladio again, to demand an explanation. But what good would that do? Clearly, Gladio didn’t want to speak to him. He’d allowed someone else to answer his phone, allowed someone else to say those things to Ignis.  
  
Perhaps even now he was giving his body to someone else.  
  
Someone who wasn't Ignis.  
  
“Ignis?” Monica’s voice again, tinged with concern. Cor and Claustra had gone silent, he realized. He could almost feel everyone looking at him. “Are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”  
  
“I…” His stomach roiled violently. He was going to be sick if he sat here much longer, and he was in no mood to swallow his feelings, nor hold up a stoic facade. “I’m afraid I’m feeling unwell. President, Secretary, I must apologize.”  
  
“No need,” Cor said. “Go home and rest up. I’ll have Dustin brief you tomorrow.”  
  
Tucking his notebook under his arm, Ignis pushed back his chair and hastened from the room, chased by the overbearing silence of his peers. As he strode the hallway, counting the steps to the men’s room, his phone vibrated once in his pocket. A text. Perhaps from Gladio.  
  
Or an email. Perhaps a coupon for a prime cut of anak steak down at the market.  
  
He wasn’t sure which was worse.  
  
At this hour, the men’s room was mercifully empty. He locked himself into a cubicle and leaned back against the door, sucking in a deep breath to calm his stomach. He felt better already, now that he was out of that stuffy council chamber. Tentatively, he withdrew his phone from his pocket and swiped to unlock it.  
  
“One new notification,” announced the voice-activated assistant.  
  
He let out the breath he’d taken. “Read notification.”  
  
After a moment’s pause, it chirped: “MMS video message from Gladiolus Amicitia.”  
  
A video message? Gladio knew he couldn’t watch it, which meant that Gladio probably hadn’t sent it. More likely, it had been sent by the man who answered Gladio’s phone. His stomach flipped over again. Was this something he wanted to watch? It wouldn’t contain anything good, surely. It might offer indisputable evidence of Gladio’s betrayal. If he didn’t watch it, at least there would still be doubt, and as long as he had doubt, he could cling to the possibility that it was all a misunderstanding.  
  
Yet Ignis had never been one to keep his head in the sand. He had to know.  
  
“Open video message,” he said at last. “Volume to eight.”  
  
A commotion of shouting burst from his phone’s speakers, echoing off the marble walls of the men’s room.  
  
“ _—fucking useless. Hold him down!_ ”  
  
“ _I’m trying! He’s too strong!_ ”  
  
There was some unintelligible hollering and the meaty smack of a fist hitting flesh—then a second, a third, and a fourth in quick succession. A weak groan followed it, and Ignis couldn’t say for sure, but it sounded like it could be Gladio. Someone standing near the device’s microphone was breathing hard.  
  
“ _Shit. Get him on his front._ ” Ignis recognized the voice, and his stomach curdled. It belonged to the man who had answered Gladio’s phone earlier.  
  
In the video, bedsprings creaked. Sheets rustled. Someone grunted. Had they beaten Gladio into submission? Was such a thing even possible? Gladio was forty now, but he still took good care of his body, was as strong as he’d ever been. Maybe stronger.  
  
“ _Gimme a hand. He’s gotta be two hundred and fifty pounds._ ” The other man had spoken, but Ignis didn’t recognize his voice.  
  
More grunting followed, and someone swore, and a belt buckle clanked.  
  
“ _Get off me!_ ” Gladio’s voice. Ignis’s heart leapt at the sound of it, raw and angry and just a touch breathless. “ _Swear to the gods, I’m gonna—_ ”  
  
“ _Shut the fuck UP!_ ” There was another meaty smack. The bedsprings creaked again. “ _Ramuh’s dick, would you fucking hold him?_ ”  
  
“ _I_ am _holding him. You wanna switch spots, asshole?_ ”  
  
“ _No._ ” Something that sounded like fabric hit the floor—a pair of jeans, perhaps. Ignis felt like he was going to be sick. “ _Just do what you’re told and maybe I’ll let you have your turn._ ”  
  
The man grunted again, and then Gladio screamed—not shrill and piercing, but a ragged, animal wail, like it had been dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. It raised the hair on his arms, on the back of his neck. He’d never heard Gladio make such a sound before. Never. And Gladio’s body still bore all the scars he’d accrued over the years—the claw marks across his shoulder blade where a goblin had gotten him, and the smooth skin on his inner right forearm where he’d taken flaming shrapnel from an exploding galvanade. He was no stranger to wounds of the flesh.  
  
It was more than mere physical pain that had drawn that terrible noise from him.  
  
“ _I said shut up!_ ” the man snarled. Gladio’s cry went muffled suddenly, as if they’d shoved something into his mouth to silence him. “ _You wanna wake the entire hotel?_ ”  
  
So they were at the Leville, then.  
  
Gladio had gone there, willingly, to meet two men.  
  
Ignis felt his way to the toilet and sat on it, putting his head between his legs, as a wave of nausea rolled over him. This couldn’t be real. It simply couldn’t. Gladio had betrayed him, had scorned the vows they’d made to each other all those years ago—and now he had to listen to this, the heavy, brutal rhythm of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated only by the man’s laboured grunts and Gladio’s muffled cries.  
  
“ _Take it easy, dude_ ,” the other man said, a touch of unease in his voice. “ _You’re gonna suffocate him._ ”  
  
“Enough,” Ignis whispered. The sounds of Gladio being violated continued until he said, a little louder, “Stop!”  
  
The video shut off, mercifully, but it left no silence in its absence. His blood roared in his ears, pounding against the cage of his skull with every heartbeat. Across the room, water dripped from a tap. And as he sat there on the toilet—his head in his hands, his stomach still lurching—his phone vibrated with another notification.  
  
“Text message from Gladiolus Amicitia,” the AI informed him.  
  
He swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. He didn’t want to hear the contents of the message. But he needed to know. “Read text message.”  
  
The AI took a moment to process the words before it said in a cheery, pleasant tone: “‘Hope you enjoyed watching us fuck your whore of a husband.’ Smile emoji.”


	2. Palpable

“What happened then?” Dr. Brunetti asks.  
  
Ignis realizes he’s clasping his hands so tight that his fingers have begun to hurt. He forces himself to relax, resting his sweating palms on his knees instead. “I sat there for a long time, incapable of coherent thought. The things I’d heard on that video kept repeating in my head.”  
  
“How did it make you feel?”  
  
Ignis closes his eyes, shakes his head. “I felt disbelief. I couldn’t comprehend that what I’d heard was real. You must understand, Doctor, that my husband is not a weak man. He was one of the fiercest daemon hunters in Lestallum during the darkness. How could he be subdued by two ordinary citizens? At first I thought…” And here he falters, still ashamed that he allowed his disbelief to turn to suspicion. “I thought perhaps Gladio was complicit in creating the video.”  
  
The scratching of Dr. Brunetti’s pen pauses. When she speaks, it’s with a tone of polite confusion. “Complicit?”  
  
“To cover up his adultery.” It sounds ridiculous even as he says it. “I thought perhaps, once he knew I knew, that he'd asked the men he was with to help him make the video, so I’d forget, if only for a little while, that he betrayed me.”  
  
“Is that something you believe him capable of?” Dr. Brunetti asks.  
  
“No,” Ignis says. “Once I’d calmed down a little, I realized how foolish I was being. Gladio can be unthinking at times, but he isn’t cruel, and he can admit to his mistakes.”  
  
“Do you have a problem with paranoia in the relationship?”  
  
“No.” He gives a sharp tug on his ring. Some have called him uptight in the past, excessively analytical, even anal-retentive, but paranoid? No. “I trusted him completely. I never imagined he could do something like this. He was always by my side after I was blinded. At first, I thought he merely sought comfort and companionship during difficult times, but then he asked me to marry him. He wanted my scarred face to be the first thing he saw when he woke up every morning. That’s why I never doubted he loved me.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
His lower lip starts to quiver, and he sucks it between his teeth, his one good eye stinging. Crying in front of the doctor simply won’t do. It won’t do at all. “Is it possible to hurt someone you love so badly?” A single tear spills down his cheek. He squeezes his eye shut and bows his head.  
  
The doctor lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh. “People are complicated, Ignis.”  
  
There’s a soft clicking sound that might be Dr. Brunetti setting down her pen. The next moment, the wheels of her chair roll over the floorboards, and he hears her footsteps coming toward him. They stop next to his chair, so close he can smell her lavender perfume. He half expects her to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. But she doesn’t.  
  
“Let’s take a quick break,” she says quietly. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. How does chamomile sound?”  
  
Ignis nods. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Doctor.”  
  
The door whispers open, and a moment later, it clicks shut again, leaving him alone in her office, with only the steady ticking of the clock for company. He pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wipes away his tears with it.  
  
Astrals help him, he thought he had his emotions under control. He’s already done enough crying over his ruined marriage—in the shower every morning, in the men’s room at the Citadel between meetings, and in bed at night, when there’s nothing to distract him from his restless thoughts. The sheets next to him where Gladio used to sleep make it so much worse. That cold, barren space has taken on a life of its own, taunting him with the love he’s lost.  
  
And what use is crying, in the end? There’s no catharsis in it. It can’t erase what Gladio’s done, or put the pieces of their marriage back together again.  
  
Perhaps there’s nothing on Eos that can do that.  
  
When the door opens again, he hastily stuffs his handkerchief back in his pocket and smooths a few stray hairs back into his pompadour. There’s a dainty clink as Dr. Brunetti sets a saucer down on the table next to him.  
  
“Do you take it with cream or sugar?” she asks.  
  
Ignis shakes his head. “Neither, as it happens. Thank you.”  
  
Dr. Brunetti returns to her desk, and Ignis picks up his teacup, blowing gently on its contents before he takes a sip.  
  
“Do you feel comfortable continuing?” she asks.  
  
“Yes.” Ignis sets the cup back down. “Gladio often tells me I overthink things. After I put aside the ridiculous notion that he fabricated his own assault, I began to worry that perhaps his attackers had killed him.”  
  
“Killed him?”  
  
“Yes. One of the voices on the video warned the other not to suffocate him,” Ignis says. “I couldn’t see what was happening on the video, so I couldn’t say for sure what they were doing to him. And there was no use calling the police, because I didn’t know where he met up with them.”  
  
“So what did you do?”  
  
“I called him,” Ignis says. “Once I’d collected myself.”  
  
He barely remembers asking the AI to dial Gladio’s number. Perhaps he did it automatically, his medulla signalling his body to act without input from his conscious brain. But he remembers the sound of Gladio’s voice answering the phone, rough and sad and lost. He remembers how it broke as he begged Ignis for forgiveness. In that moment, Ignis couldn’t hate him.  
  
But he didn’t love him, either.  
  
“And what did you say to him?” Dr. Brunetti prompts.  
  
Ignis breathes in deep, thinking back to that terrible night. “I asked him where he was. He wouldn’t tell me at first. He said he’d meet me at home. But I insisted, told him he owed me an honest answer after what he’d done.” Ignis licks his lips. “He gave me an address—the Leville in the financial district—and a room number. I asked him not to move until I got there. And then I called for my car and went to him.”

  
*

  
**{FIVE DAYS EARLIER}**

  
The drive from the Citadel to the Leville was only supposed to take ten minutes, but it felt to Ignis like they'd hit every red light and pocket of traffic along the way. He sat in the backseat of his Citadel-issued car with his head resting on the window, pulling restlessly at the fingers of his gloves. Normally, he’d make small talk with his driver. They were on friendly terms, and Victor, being a bit of an amateur chef himself, liked to plumb the depths of Ignis’s knowledge for tips he could take home to his own stove.  
  
Not tonight, though. He was too busy chewing his lip with worry, wondering what he was going to say to Gladio when he arrived at the Leville.  
  
The sky opened up just as Victor’s GPS instructed him to turn left onto Mystic King’s Avenue a few blocks west of the Leville. Raindrops began to patter on the roof of the car, swiftly giving way to a heavy drumming. He could just imagine the roads going slick, turning the lights of the city into watery splotches of colour on the asphalt. There would be financiers rushing by on the sidewalks, shielding their heads with newspapers, and businesswomen with black umbrellas trotting across the street on heels.  
  
Victor pulled the car up to the curb outside the Leville and put it in park. “You want me to wait?” he asked.  
  
“Please,” Ignis said. He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”  
  
He hurried under the overhang to escape the rain, starting when someone touched his elbow.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” said a voice. A doorman, perhaps, or a bellboy. “The lobby’s this way.”  
  
“Thank you,” Ignis said, letting himself be ushered into the hotel. The hand on his elbow, tentative yet ever-present, guiding him without being commandeering, reminded him so much of Prompto. “Would you be able to direct me to the elevators?”  
  
“Of course, sir. This way.”  
  
The hand on his elbow escorted him fifteen steps across the lobby, leaving him only to press the call button for the elevator. Ignis thanked him, pressing a few two-gil coins into his hand, and entered the elevator when the doors slid open. It took him a few seconds of feeling around, tracing the numbers on each button with his bare fingers, before he found the one that would take him to the fifth floor. He pushed it and rode the elevator up in silence, utterly alone.  
  
When the doors slid open and he stepped out, he turned right, just as Gladio had instructed him on the phone, and trailed his hand along the wall, counting four doorways before he reached the one he was looking for.  
  
517.  
  
Behind this door, he’d find the room that held the shambles of his marriage.  
  
Taking a steadying breath, Ignis knocked twice before pushing the door open with a shaking hand. Gladio had left it unlocked for him. Or perhaps it had been the men who used him, knowing Ignis would come running and find him here.  
  
His nostrils prickled as the yeasty aroma of beer wafted through the open doorway. Another smell followed it, thick and swampy and sharp, like genitals trapped in a pair of jeans on a sweltering day. Like the musk of a man’s underarms, sweetened by citrusy deodorant. Sex, unmistakably. He’d smelled it enough in his own bedroom to know it by instinct. And under it, there was something coppery—blood, Ignis realized, and enough of it to scent the air.  
  
“Gladio?” he said softly.  
  
Sheets shifted a few feet to his left, followed by a sniffle. Ignis began to pick his way across the room, one hand on the wall, pausing when his foot caught on something soft pooled on the carpet. He bent to pick it up. A t-shirt, smelling of Gladio’s skin, his cologne. Absurdly, after everything that had transpired tonight, he found it still comforted him. He pressed his nose into it and willed himself not to cry.  
  
He continued his path along the wall, collecting a pair of jeans, torn boxer shorts, and a sock as he went, and stopped again when his foot collided with solid wood. He reached down to find the bedside table, empty but for a clock radio and a smartphone. Gladio’s, perhaps. He left it where it lay, and as he skirted the table, something crunched under his shoes.  
  
Glass?  
  
He could investigate later.  
  
Reaching out, his hand met a warm, hairy shin. Merely touching Gladio had him breathing a sigh of relief, but Gladio didn’t so much as twitch under his hand, and now that he was next to the bed, Ignis could hear his erratic, shuddering breaths. He slid his palm over the hard muscle of his calf, the soft tissue behind his knee, and thick, powerful hamstrings.  
  
They were wet and sticky. Ignis brought his fingertips to his nose, recoiling when he smelled blood.  
  
_Oh, gods._  
  
He understood now the sheer brutality of what had happened here.  
  
“Gladio?” he repeated, urgently, climbing on the bed next to him.  
  
Gladio let out a wet breath that wasn’t quite a sob and curled himself into Ignis’s lap. Numb, all Ignis could do was hold him. He put his arms around Gladio, automatically, the way he’d done countless times before, and began to rub soothing circles on his back. The skin under his hands was clammy with cold sweat, and that powerful body shook in his embrace, uncontrollable, as if it had become a conduit for a high voltage current.  
  
Disgust began to well inside him, burning acidic in the base of his throat.  
  
Someone had hurt Gladio. Someone had held him down and broken his spirit, had reduced him to this thing quivering in his arms.  
  
Yet all Ignis could think about was how Gladio had hurt him.  
  
“We need to take you to the hospital,” he said, once Gladio had begun to quieten.  
  
“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”  
  
“Gladio, a crime was committed here,” Ignis insisted. He felt detached from the situation, as if he’d unzipped his skin and stepped outside of it. “The police need to know, and you need to be tested for disease. For all we know, the men who did this to you could be out there doing it to someone else.”  
  
“I ain’t diseased—”  
  
Ignis cut him off. “Did they use a condom?”  
  
“I…” Gladio huffed out a shuddering breath. “Fuck, I don’t know. I think one of ‘em did.”  
  
“Then I don’t want to hear any more arguments. We’re going to the hospital. Victor is waiting outside for us. He’ll drive us there.”  
  
Gladio pushed himself upright, out of the circle of Ignis’s arms, and it felt like the last stitch coming loose from the fabric that had held their love together. “Iggy, I just wanna go home.”  
  
Ignis squared his jaw. “You’re bleeding from your rectum. I can fix minor abrasions, but I can’t fix that.” He stood and tossed the clothes he’d collected from the floor onto the bed. “Get dressed. I’ll call Victor to bring the car around.”  
  
“Why won’t you listen to me?”  
  
At that, Ignis laughed bitterly. “You came here to sleep with other men, Gladio. Right now, I don’t particularly care what you think, or what you have to say to me.”  
  
In the wounded silence that followed, he regretted what he’d said. Gladio’s well-being mattered more right now than Ignis’s smarting pride and broken heart, and hectoring him about his poor life choices would do his psyche no favours in the long run. Ignis had spent much of his life schooling himself to be the better person, and he’d always prided himself on his refusal to take Noct’s temper tantrums personally.  
  
Surely he could do it with this particular situation, too.  
  
“I apologize,” he said softly. “I spoke without thinking.”  
  
There was another agonizing silence. Ignis listened, standing motionless next to the bed, as Gladio rose and dressed himself. The whisper of cotton sliding over skin, the clank of a belt buckle. Gladio’s grunt of pain as his movements re-opened the fissures inside him. Ignis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the crunching sound came from under his shoes again.  
  
“What is that?” he asked.  
  
“Glass,” Gladio grunted.  
  
“Glass?” Ignis echoed. “From what?”  
  
“Broken bottle.”  
  
“A broken bottle? What did they use it for?”  
  
“What the hell do you think they used it for?” Gladio snapped. “You think I lay there and took it quietly? I fought back, so they put the bottle to my throat and fucked me like that. Shiva’s _fucking_ tits, Ignis.” His voice broke on the expletive, and then he made a noise of disgust, and his footsteps crossed to the door. The hinges creaked as he opened it. “You coming or what?”  
  
“Yes,” Ignis said faintly, his stomach turning over as his mind’s eye supplied him with a snapshot of Gladio on his back and jagged glass at his throat. “Just let me call Victor first.”  
  
Once he was off the phone, he followed Gladio out into the hallway. It was cooler here, and sterile-smelling, compared to the room they’d just exited. Ignis breathed it deep, wishing it could clear his mind as effectively as it had scoured his nostrils.  
  
“Do you have the key?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah. Why?”  
  
Ignis extended his hand. “Give it to me. We can’t check out yet.”  
  
“Why the hell not?”  
  
“Because, Gladio,” Ignis said patiently, as if he were explaining something to a particularly willful child, “the police will want to examine the room once we report your…” The words caught in his throat. Neither of them had yet named the violence those men had carried out against Gladio—naming it, after all, would be tantamount to admitting it was real—but there was no avoiding it now. “Your…well, your assault.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“We can’t let housekeeping destroy any evidence. It could help put away the people who did this to you.”  
  
“Already told you I don’t want to make a big deal outta this.”  
  
“It’s already a big deal, Gladio, and after what you’ve done, I’m afraid you don’t have a say in what happens next.” He extended his hand further, insistently. “Key, please.”  
  
There was another lengthy silence, and in it, Ignis felt the gulf between them widening. He’d woken up to Gladio’s kiss that morning. They’d cooked breakfast together, and talked about the news as they ate it, until a call from Cor had interrupted them. He’d gone to work believing Gladio loved him.  
  
Now, he found he didn’t know Gladio at all. Who was this man he’d married? What other secrets was he hiding?  
  
Gladio let out his breath and said, softly, “You always think you know best, don’t you, Ignis?” before he slapped the key into Ignis’s palm.


	3. Clinical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! It's been almost a year since I updated this. If you're still reading...sorry for the wait? :)

He's been talking for so long that the teacup has gone cold in his hands. Ignis brings it to his lips and drinks, more out of courtesy than anything, but it’s lukewarm and offers him no comfort. So he sets it down again on the saucer and clasps his hands between his knees.  
  
“You were reunited with your husband,” Dr. Brunetti says. “How did that make you feel?”  
  
“I was…angry,” Ignis says slowly. It would be irresponsible to misrepresent his emotions, but he doesn’t know any other way to describe the wounded rage that gripped him as he stood next to Gladio in the Leville’s hallway. “I wanted to hit him.”  
  
There’s a brief pause before Dr. Brunetti repeats, “You wanted to hit him?”  
  
Ignis licks his lips. “Yes.”  
  
Her pen scratches furiously on her notepad. “Do you often think such things about your spouse?”  
  
His hands have begun to shake again. He squeezes them between his thighs. “No, of course not. I’ve never wanted to be violent with anyone, least of all Gladio.”  
  
“So you’ve never struck him?”  
  
“No.” Physicality with Gladio has always meant kissing, or making love, or lying in each other’s arms on the couch as they listened to audiobooks and radio plays. They’ve argued, yes, but Gladio would never harm him. And he’s never once thought of harming Gladio, until that night last week. “Our relationship has always been…affectionate.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Respectful.”  
  
Dr. Brunetti makes a humming sound. Ignis waits as her pen scratches out a few more lines, then goes silent. “So you went to the hospital with him,” she prompts.  
  
Ignis nods. “Yes. Victor brought us to Insomnia General.”  
  
“And did you speak to each other on the way there?”  
  
“No.” The rain hammered the roof of the car, and Victor’s radio blared a cacophony of electronic dance music, but Gladio never said a word to him. “I didn’t know what to say. I knew I should comfort him, but instead, I only wanted to ask him why.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
Ignis shakes his head. “No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I’m afraid.” Deep down, he already knows why Gladio did it—he’s tired of his blind, disfigured husband. Ignis just couldn’t stand to hear him say, _I don’t love you anymore_. “I’m afraid of how my life will change if I ask.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“We’ve been married nearly eight years,” Ignis says. “We were together for a decade before that. And we’ve known each other for most of our lives. The thought of having to leave him is…almost too difficult to consider.”  
  
“But you have thought about it.”  
  
Ignis nods. More than once, consumed with disgust—disgust with Gladio, disgust with himself for lingering when he should have left days ago—he’s found himself retrieving his suitcase from the depths of their closet. But he’s never been able to bring himself to pack it. Where would he go? The apartment he shares with Gladio is the only home he’s known since they returned to Insomnia. If he left, he’d have to find a new dwelling, negotiate a lease, and move himself in, and he’d have to do it all on his own. Cor would help him if he asked, but that would only raise more questions—questions he has no desire to answer.  
  
So he continues to cohabit with Gladio, even though they sleep in separate beds and hardly speak. Every morning, he waits for Gladio to get in the shower before he leaves his bedroom to go to work. At night, he lies awake and listens to Gladio’s stifled sobs in the spare room next door. The sound of it is worse than any physical blow. But Ignis can’t bring himself to console Gladio. His pride won’t allow it.  
  
“Tell me what happened when you arrived at the hospital,” Dr. Brunetti says. There’s a clink as she lifts her teacup from its saucer. “Did you get more answers while you were there?”  
  
“Yes. We were there for four hours. They did an examination and a sexual assault kit, and a police officer came to take our statements.” Ignis twists his ring around his finger, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “That was how I found out what Gladio was doing at the Leville that evening.”

*

**{FIVE DAYS EARLIER}**

  
When they arrived at Insomnia General, they only had to wait ten minutes before Gladio was whisked away to be examined.  
  
Still, those ten minutes felt like an eternity. The sounds of the waiting room were almost too much for Ignis to stand—babies screaming, telephones ringing off the hook, the incessant beeping of machines. It stank of illness, too, of sour vomit and excrement and antiseptic. Ignis sat stiffly in a plastic chair, flinching when someone sitting a few seats over erupted into a battery of hacking coughs.  
  
But worse than all that was the heat of Gladio’s arm pressed against his own. It should have brought him comfort, but instead, it made his skin crawl.  
  
It was almost a mercy when the nurse came to fetch them.  
  
“Gladiolus Amicitia?” she called out.  
  
Ignis felt Gladio rise from the chair next to him. Forgetting himself, he put out his hand for assistance, only to curl it into a fist, withdrawing, when Gladio didn’t take it. Of course. After their exchange in the hotel hallway, it was unlikely Gladio wanted to touch Ignis any more than Ignis wished to be touched. So he sighed and got himself to his feet, his hands braced on the arm rests.  
  
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, “we can’t—”  
  
“It’s okay,” Gladio said. There was a brief silence before he added, “We’re married.”  
  
“But sir—”  
  
“Just let him come,” Gladio said harshly. “He’s not gonna take no for an answer.”  
  
There was another uncomfortable silence before the nurse finally said, “All right, but he’ll have to stay on the other side of the curtain. We’ll be taking DNA samples from your body, and for health and legal purposes, we can’t risk exposing him to evidence or contamination.”  
  
Ignis smiled humourlessly. “That’s quite all right.”  
  
He followed their footsteps down the corridor and into an examination room on the right-hand side of the hallway. The nurse closed the door behind them, muffling most of the chaos of the ER, sealing them into a sterile cocoon of quiet. A moment later, a chair scraped over the ceramic floor behind him. It clattered as it met the wall.  
  
“Have a seat,” the nurse said to him, placing a hand on his forearm to guide him until he could sit. Ignis obliged, leaning his walking stick on the wall next to his chair, and folded his hands in his lap, his fingers threaded together. “This could take a few hours. If you want a coffee, let me know and I’ll get one of the other nurses to bring you one.”  
  
“Thank you,” Ignis murmured.  
  
Her footsteps moved away from him, and the sound of curtain hooks screeching over a metal rod cut through the silence.  
  
“All right, Gladiolus,” the nurse said. A drawer rolled open—in a desk, perhaps—followed by something sliding on metal and the rustle of papers. “Before we do the exam, I have to ask you a few questions. I need you to answer honestly.” There was a pause—perhaps Gladio nodding his assent—and then she said, “Are you currently taking any medications?”  
  
“No,” Gladio’s voice rumbled.  
  
The scratch of a pen over paper. “Do you have any pre-existing medical conditions?”  
  
“None that I know about.”  
  
“Have you had any recent consensual sexual activity?”  
  
A pause. “What counts as recent?”  
  
“In the past week.”  
  
Another pause, heavy and uncomfortable, before Gladio said, “No.”  
  
“Thank you.” A page turning, the click of a pen. Her voice was softer as she asked, “Now, Gladiolus, can you tell me what happened tonight?”  
  
Ignis held his breath, his muscles tense, as if anticipating a blow. A part of him wanted to know everything—to know the details of what Gladio had done tonight, and why, for Shiva’s sake, _why_ —but the other part shrank from the truth. There could be no hiding behind assumptions once Gladio told this nurse his story. There could be no pretending Gladio had done nothing wrong, that he hadn’t gotten himself into this mess because Ignis wasn’t enough to slake his appetite any longer.  
  
“I, uh…” A wet sound, barely audible—Gladio swallowing. “A guy I met at a bar texted me and asked if I wanted to hook up. I said yeah.”  
  
Something twisted inside Ignis’s chest, wringing all the air from his lungs. How could Gladio be so matter-of-fact about it? How could he stand there and name his unfaithfulness so calmly, knowing Ignis was sitting on the other side of the curtain? His hands began to tremble. He curled them into fists on his knees and swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to stay focused on the conversation.  
  
The nurse’s pen scratched out another line on the paper. “You met him willingly?”  
  
“Yeah.” Gladio was quiet for another handful of seconds. “He gave me a room number at the Leville. There was a second guy was with him when I got there. I tried to leave, but they grabbed me and…”  
  
He trailed off. There was a long pause before the nurse said: “You were assaulted by two men?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The paper rustled again. “Can you tell me where and how they assaulted you?”  
  
Ignis bowed his head, clenching his teeth, his guts churning. Hearing the details of Gladio’s infidelity hurt like a knife in the chest, sharp and suffocating. It was bad enough knowing Gladio had done something so selfish, knowing he might have done it a hundred times before behind Ignis’s back. But now Gladio would twist the blade, scraping Ignis down to the bone, with his account of the things those men had done to him.  
  
“I tried to leave,” Gladio said, his voice hard and emotionless now, like he’d given up on hiding his misdeed, like he wanted to punish Ignis with the truth instead. “But Leandro—the guy I agreed to meet—slammed my head into the doorframe. I was disoriented, my ears were ringing. They shoved me on the bed, and Leandro…”  
  
Gladio trailed off again, and the sound of the pen scratching stopped, leaving utter silence in its stead. Ignis was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his _throat_ ached. In his mind, he could see them throwing Gladio onto the mattress—reeling, defenseless, blood oozing from a wound on his temple—and tearing at his clothes like a pair of wild animals, like starving vultures falling on fresh roadkill. Like he was a thing they could use, a tool for their gratification, and not the man Ignis loved.  
  
The man he’d thought he loved.  
  
“Do you want to stop?” the nurse asked gently. “We can do the exam without—”  
  
“No, I’m fine,” Gladio said, his voice suddenly harsh, determined, angry. Ignis flinched at the sound of it. “Leandro shoved my face into the mattress and fucked me. I think I must’ve blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was on my back and he was on top of me.”  
  
“To be clear, he penetrated you anally?”  
  
Gladio made a wordless sound in the affirmative.  
  
“Did he use a condom?” she asked.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Try to remember.”  
  
“I can’t. They beat me up pretty bad.” Gladio laughed, flat and empty. “It’s all a blur.”  
  
“Where did they beat you?”  
  
“My face, mostly. Got me a few times in the ribs and the back of the head.”  
  
The pen scratched some more. “Was that the end of it?”  
  
“No. I fought back. The other guy put a broken bottle to my throat and fucked me too. Thought he was gonna kill me after, but small mercies, I guess.” Then he laughed that horrible laugh again.  
  
“Do you know if he used a condom?”  
  
“No,” he said. Then: “Maybe. I don’t…”  
  
“It’s all right,” the nurse said soothingly. “If they didn’t use condoms, their semen will turn up during the examination. Is there anything else?”  
  
“That’s the gist of it.” Gladio’s breath came in shudders, like he was holding on to his composure by a thread. “Is that enough?”  
  
Ignis swallowed hard, his eyes burning with unshed tears. _Yes. It’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more._  
  
“It’s plenty,” the nurse said. “Thank you.”  
  
The pen clicked, and there was a clatter as she set her clipboard down on the desk. Next came the tearing of paper—from the spool on the examination table, most likely—and then a rustle as it was spread out over the floor. Ignis closed his eyes, chewing his lower lip. The truth was out now, for better or worse. He could picture Gladio standing there, his arms folded over his chest and shoulders hunched, perhaps glaring resentfully at the curtain, and Ignis’s shadow on the other side of it. Ignis, after all, had made him come here. Ignis was the reason for this humiliation.  
  
“You’ll need to take all your clothes off,” the nurse said, her voice soothing, as if she was speaking to a frightened child. “They’ll be bagged up and given to the police as evidence, along with swabs taken from various parts of your body. If you’re okay with it, we’ll also take a few photographs of your injuries, including the places you were assaulted. Do I have your consent to do that?”  
  
Gladio didn’t answer, but he must have nodded, because after a moment, the nurse said, “All right. I’m going to step out and call the police while you get undressed. You can put on this gown instead. Just make sure you stay on the paper. It’ll catch any hairs or other DNA that falls off your clothes.”  
  
The nurse’s footsteps padded out of the room, leaving them alone together once more. Gladio didn’t speak. Ignis, not knowing what to say, kept his thoughts to himself. He listened to the whisper of clothes moving as Gladio disrobed, then more crinkling as he let each article drop to the floor.  
  
His throat closed up as he realized he would never know exactly what sort of injuries Gladio had sustained. Ignis could only imagine the wounds the assault had left upon him, pieced together from what he had heard on the video, and from what Gladio had told him—his husband, naked beyond the curtain, his golden skin washed a sickly yellow in the light of the fluorescents, mottled from head to toe with purple bruises, with streaks of blood dried on his inner thighs and pinprick wounds on his throat where those men had held the broken bottle.  
  
Or perhaps the physical trauma wasn’t so bad as all that.  
  
He couldn’t say for sure.  
  
The reality of it would always be beyond his reach, leaving him with only the horrors conjured by his mind.  
  
Next to Ignis, the door opened, then closed softly. “How are we doing?” the nurse asked.  
  
“Fine,” Gladio grunted. “Let’s just get this over with.”  
  
“All right.” More footsteps, and the swish of the curtain moving. “Just give me a second to deal with your clothes.”  
  
Plastic tore, and there was the brush of Gladio’s clothing being placed in a bag. Neither the nurse nor Gladio spoke. Ignis imagined him awkwardly standing there, holding the gown closed to preserve what little modesty he had left, as he watched the nurse work.    
  
“Before we get started, I just want to explain in more detail what’s going to happen,” the nurse said. “I’m going to scrape some samples from your skin with this wooden stick, in case your attackers left any DNA on you. I’ll also comb your pubic hair, and take swabs from your bruises, your genitals, and your anus. At any point during this process, you can let me know if you’re uncomfortable, and we’ll stop.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“As I said earlier, we’ll take some photos as well,” the nurse went on. “I know this isn’t the most comfortable process, but it will help the police in their investigation.”  
  
Gladio grunted. “Do what you have to do.”  
  
“Thank you.” Something on the desk clattered, then rolled on its surface. “When we’re done all that, the doctor will come in to give you an internal examination, and he’ll take blood and urine samples. It won’t take long. You can give your statement to the police after.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Let’s get started, then. If you could open your mouth, please, Gladiolus, so I can do a swab of your cheeks…”  
  
After that, they spoke minimally, their voices hushed. There were few sounds to give Ignis any clues as to what was going on. Only the occasional murmur as the nurse instructed Gladio to turn, or lift his chin, or part his gown.  
  
Now and then, a stifled grunt of pain from Gladio.  
  
The nearly inaudible scrape of medical instruments on Gladio’s skin.  
  
It left Ignis too much space to think—to wonder again, with a cold anger, why Gladio had betrayed him. To wonder how Gladio had kissed him goodbye that evening, all the while planning a rendezvous with someone else. At least he’d had the common sense not to do it in their bed. It turned his stomach to think of Gladio fornicating with another man between the sheets they shared.  
  
But knowing he’d gone to a hotel was little solace. Ignis had sacrificed much for their relationship. While Gladio wasted his potential on bouncing, Ignis worked hard, sometimes well into the night, so they could have the things they wanted—the things they’d taken for granted before they left the Crown City all those years ago, the comforts they’d hungered for during the long dark. As Insomnia flourished and the economy recovered, Ignis had found them a spacious condominium, newly built, near Memorial Square. He’d furnished it with a king-sized feather bed, had filled their closet with nice clothes. He cooked their meals, managed their budget, paid their bills, administered their household. Sometimes, when they had the cash to spare, Ignis treated Gladio to dinner out, or to a live show at the Entertainment District downtown.  
  
And this was how Gladio had chosen to repay him? This was how he’d chosen to honour their commitment to each other?  
  
The assault was a sort of punishment, perhaps, but it didn’t make things right.  
  
It didn’t make Ignis hurt any less.  
  
“Sir?” The nurse’s voice, and a hand touching his shoulder, reeling him out of his thoughts. “The police are here. I’m almost done with Gladiolus, but maybe you can give them your statement first, while the doctor’s in here examining him.”  
  
Ignis nodded wearily, reaching for his walking stick. It would almost be a mercy to escape this room, to escape this clinical treatment of Gladio, and of the wreckage of their lives. “Certainly,” he said.  
  
For the next hour, he sat in a quiet room with an officer, reliving the series of events that had led him and Gladio here. He was almost too exhausted to feel anything as he explained the contents of the video he’d been sent, as he relayed his impressions of the hotel room where the attack had taken place. When the officer pressed him for more details, he described the lingering scent of blood and sex and beer, and the crunch of broken glass under his heel. But beyond that, he couldn’t help.  
  
“I’m afraid I’m limited by my lack of sight,” he told the officer with a wry smile.  
  
Awkwardly, the officer thanked him, taking the key to the hotel room and Ignis’s phone so he could review the video back at the precinct.  
  
After that, Ignis found himself in the waiting room again, perched on a hard plastic seat with a styrofoam cup in his hands, as Gladio gave his own statement to the police, locked away in the room Ignis had just vacated. It was almost midnight. Normally, Ignis wouldn’t drink coffee at this hour, but he didn’t imagine he’d be getting much sleep when he got home anyway, so he swallowed it down in three gulps.  
  
Would Gladio cooperate with the officer? He’d only come to the hospital because Ignis had insisted on it. Now that Ignis was out of earshot, perhaps he’d be obstinate. Perhaps he’d tell the police there was nothing to investigate.  
  
The minutes ticked by. Ignis couldn’t say how many—fifteen, thirty, forty-five, an hour? As he sat there massaging his temples, willing away the headache that had begun to throb behind his eyes, the nurse came by to deliver a bundle of literature about sexually transmitted infections into his safekeeping. The doctor had found semen inside of Gladio, she told him, and he would have to come back in six weeks for testing.  
  
“Is there nothing you can do in the meantime?” Ignis asked, voice rising. What if Gladio’s attackers had given him a disease he could never recover from? He hadn’t considered the possibility until now.  
  
“The doctor can prescribe him some post-exposure medication, but there’s no guarantee it will help,” the nurse said. “The side effects might just make him feel worse.”  
  
“What side effects?” Ignis asked wearily.  
  
“Nausea, vomiting, diarrhea.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ll have the doctor write him a prescription. He can decide for himself if he wants to take them.”  
  
Then he was alone again.  
  
He considered getting another coffee, but the caffeine was doing his nerves no favours. Where his paranoid mind felt alive—too alive—his logical processes were sluggish. Mostly, he wanted to lie down, to shut off his brain and forget, if only for an hour, that Gladio had been violated. He wanted to forget that Gladio had lied to him, had perhaps been lying to his face for weeks or months or years. But he could not let it go. The thoughts persisted.  
  
_Why?_  
  
_Gladio, why?_  
  
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back until it knocked against the wall, biting his lower lip to stop it from quivering.  
  
_Why don’t you love me anymore?_

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and unedited; please forgive any errors in spelling, grammar, punctuation, and characterization.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated. They keep me going! Thanks for reading!


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